


in tides of light and cold

by irridesca



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (mentions only), (will leave a warning in the chapter), Alpha Ben Solo, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mentions of Breeding, Mentions of Forced Breeding, Mentions of Infertility, Mutual Pining, Omega Rey (Star Wars), Organized Crime, Power Imbalance, Scenting, Sex Trafficking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29012694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irridesca/pseuds/irridesca
Summary: The pale brown of his attire tells her he’s a part of the force that’s meant to cage—protect,whatever—Omegas until they find their mate. There are cuffs and a gun holstered to his belt. Though Rey understands that these are meant to be used on outside offenders that mean to harm her, she also can’t help but wonder if they are ultimately meant to subdue her, too.“This is Ben Solo,” Luke tells her, looking between them.And like a nail in the coffin of her former life, he says, “He will be your Guard.”
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 66
Kudos: 392





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> baby's first a/b/o :')
> 
> would love to know what you think!

It’s a bag of chips and a pound of deli meat that does her in. 

It’s stupid, too—she _knows_ that Battalion officers frequent the market in the mornings for styrofoam cups of bitter black coffee and donuts from the bakery. 

But Rey hasn’t had a full meal in days, and hunger makes you forget logic. Hunger takes over the part of your brain that can rationalize and talk you out of a supremely bad idea—it rules you, more than the heart or the conscience could ever hope to. It lives in your gut and festers there, transforming its host into a howling scavenger, feral and desperate for nourishment. 

The oversized puffy jacket she normally uses to hide stolen goods from the market got jacked, so she’s left with a purple hoodie that’s too small for her even _before_ she tries to hide Cheetos and a carton of Oscar Mayer ham underneath. She fails miserably at being inconspicuous when she makes a mad dash to the exit; a clerk spots her and yells at the two officers within earshot that there’s a thief in the store. 

They catch her before she can make it out of the parking lot. 

The one that reaches her grabs her by the elbows, holding her against his chest and commanding her to stop resisting. She obeys, because she has no choice but to do so. The affirmative _yes, Alpha_ that falls from her lips tastes like battery acid in her throat. 

Rey knows from the second they get to her that she’s not going to make it home tonight—if she could call the couch she’s currently occupying _home_ , anyway. It doubles as a futon and makes her back and neck stiff as a board, but it’s better than the shelter. Or the street. 

None of that matters anymore. 

The futon will be something she thinks about longingly in the future when she remembers her independence, her stolen freedom, the twenty years she went unmarked and unknown, flying under the radar of a society that wanted nothing more than to capture and breed her. 

The officer sees her bare wrist when he goes to arrest her, and the look he gives her could burn a hole in her chest. The disappointment and horror is loud, vibrating off of him in waves.

She stares right back at him, unflinching, because she’s proud of how far she’s come—an Omega in the wild with no one at her heels telling her what to do or who to love. It’s a lot more than most of her kind can say for themselves—they practically line up to get registered the second they present, no qualms with becoming just another cog in the machine of oppression. 

They don’t waste time processing her at the jail; they take her straight to the registrar with triumphant, arrogant smirks on their stupid Alpha faces and practically beam when they explain the situation to a security guy at the gate. He leans down and takes a look at her through the back window, narrowing his eyes as if in disbelief. It must be odd for him, seeing an Omega over the age of eighteen come through these gates for the first time. He’s probably used to dealing with newly-presented children—ten and eleven-year-olds lining up like cattle to be stripped of their agency. 

“Stealing?” the man sneers, still looking at Rey. The officer grunts in the affirmative.

“They’ll figure out what to do with her in there. Probably lock her up, if I had to guess. Breed and then ship to the Island for evasion,” the portly, sweaty man says as he waves them onward. 

Rey’s nostrils flare and she pushes her wrists as far as they’ll go against the metal bracelets. Worn, faded leather boots kick the gate that separates her from the officers, and when she screams, it’s muffled by the muzzle that’s wrapped tightly around her head. It doesn’t stop her from trying—she’s nearly hoarse by the time they reach the entrance. 

“Scream all you want, Omega. You’re going in,” one of them grumbles. 

Seconds later, two men in pale green scrubs and masks appear at her door. They open it without ceremony and reach in to grasp her arm as Rey leaps backward, shoving against the opposite side of the car and doing her best to kick their hands. One of the orderlies, a man with rust-colored hair and alabaster skin—reaches for her ankle. Rey kicks him in the hip and he hisses, staggering backward. 

“Bitch!” he snarls, rubbing at the spot. 

They both stare at her for a moment, fuming. Their masks are concealing everything but their furious eyes, and it’s obvious they’re not used to dealing with dissent. 

Their shock only fuels Rey’s desire to keep fighting back. She bears her teeth and growls.

“Give it to her,” the redhead commands roughly. 

The other lunges and grabs her by the calf, and before she can reach him with her other foot, he’s shoving a needle into the muscle beneath and injecting her with some cloudy-looking substance. It only takes a few breaths for Rey to feel it invade her bloodstream, and soon, she’s less tense, less determined to stay in the car. When he pulls her out of the backseat by her ankles, she goes without a fight.

By the time he lifts her and throws her haphazardly over his shoulder, her eyes are too heavy to keep open any longer. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


When she wakes, the world seems softer than before. 

Somewhere deep down, Rey knows that they’ve dosed her with those infamously effective suppressants, the ones that coat things in sweetness and blur life’s hard edges. They encourage obedience, pliancy, and all of the other wonderfully submissive traits that every well-behaved Omega should carry. 

She’s heard horror stories about what happens once you’re registered, tall tales of Omegas that tried to dissent, or were deemed unsuitable for society and lived out the rest of their miserable existence in a cage at a breeding house. Rey’s about as rebellious as dissenters come—she’s fought _hard_ against getting registered her entire life, so it’s surprising when she wakes up and she’s not chained to a bus on the way to one of the facilities. 

From the second she presented at sixteen, she’d become a chessmaster of her own life, strategizing where to go and how long to stay lest she be discovered by some nosy, sniffing Guard. When she went into heat for the first time, she practically buried herself alive under a heaping pile of trash to cover her scent. It was the worst night of her life, and she’d found a mausoleum to hide in after that, writhing around on dead leaves and dust for the rest of it. Her body had _screamed_ for an Alpha to knot her and fill her with come, but she’d fought through it with gritted teeth and white knuckles, resisting every agonizing urge. 

After that nightmare, she bought suppressants on the black market and never missed a dose. 

Even more surprising than the lack of security is the woman that’s sitting at the edge of her bed with manicured hands folded in her lap and an easy, omniscient smirk on her lips. The immaculately-tailored charcoal suit that frames her shoulders perfectly is probably the nicest piece of clothing Rey’s ever seen in real life, and there’s a diamond on her left hand that’s blinding against the sunlight peeking through a crack in the curtains. 

Whoever this is, she looks and smells like money. Rey thinks she must be important. 

“Hello, Rey.” Her voice is velvety soft and instantly soothing.

Rey isn’t sure how she didn’t notice before, with that scent wafting into her nostrils. This woman is an Alpha. 

“How do you know my name?” Rey murmurs, all bite in her tone smoothed by the drugs. 

The woman leans forward, her smirk growing into a brighter, kinder-looking smile. It’s a balm to Rey’s nerves—it assuages the lingering anxiety that being in this place gives her, which is strong enough to cut through even the highest grade of relaxants. 

“You were very forthcoming earlier. The drugs helped with that.” 

Rey’s cheeks get warm. “What did I tell you?” 

She shakes her head, waving her hand dismissively, but the gesture isn’t unkind. “It doesn’t matter, sweetheart,” she assures. “I know you must be frightened, but I’m not here to punish you or send you to a breeding house. I’m here to offer you a path to freedom.” 

“What?” Rey blurts out. “Why me?” 

There’s no universe in which Rey is going to take this woman at her word. Not when that word is a way out, a lucky break—something Rey’s never gotten before and wouldn’t know what to do with; the act of a rescue in any capacity is a foreign concept to her.

“I’d like to understand more about you. I won’t be able to do that if you’re locked up or dead.” 

Under the haze of the suppressants, anger buzzes in Rey’s throat. “Who even are you?” 

A curious look flashes over the woman's face. “My name is Leia Organa.” 

_Oh._

Things slowly start to make more sense. 

Of course Rey’s _heard_ of Leia Organa, the senator that has advocated for Omega rights for longer than she’s been alive. The same one that always votes in favor of mate-and-breed and against forced breeding. If it weren’t for her and the few others in government like her, not a single Omega would be free. As it is, the term _free_ is loose—they are only allowed to function independently if they are mated to an Alpha. 

Then, and only then, can they coexist with the rest of humanity. 

The Battalion—the Battalion Guard, specifically—is who keeps them safe while they are being courted. 

The Guard is the shadow that Rey’s been running from. 

“I don’t want a Guard,” she spits. 

Leia purses her lips, considering the angry Omega carefully. “You’d prefer to be bred until your body is wrecked and unusable? Sent to the Island when you’re too weak to even move?” 

Hot, furious tears gather in Rey’s eyes. She should have known that she would always end up right here, alone and trapped in this hellscape brought on by her biology. 

“I don’t want any of it,” she says quietly. “I want to—” she sniffles, blinking out a couple of tears. “I want to go back to before.” 

Leia leans forward again. “ _Before_ is gone, Rey,” she says, resolute. “If you want to live—if you want to be back in the world ever again, this is your best shot.” 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


At the very least, Rey is happy that she isn’t at the registration facility anymore. 

The clothes Leia gave her are better than the ratty ones she came in. The mauve-colored sweatsuit is soft and warm and smells brand new; it’s comfortable, stretchy enough that she can sit cross-legged in the backseat of Leia’s armored car. The senator is sitting next to her, scrolling quietly through her inbox. 

Rey stares out the heavily tinted window, wondering idly if she appreciated trees the way she should have before she was captured. They’re free in a way she will never be again, tethered to the earth with strong roots that allow them the room to grow as large as they possibly can. But Rey—this is all that she will ever be—an Omega to be used and bred.

A vessel.

Whether it’s by a hundred faceless Alphas or one for the rest of her life, the truth remains the same. 

“You must have questions.” Leia breaks her from her spiral, the phone now sitting face down in her lap. She’s looking at Rey thoughtfully, an echo of fascination always present in her features.

Of course she has questions. All she can think about are _questions_. She’s on the precipice of meeting two people that will change her life forever—her Guard first, then her mate—two people that she’s spent her whole life trying to escape. This is her greatest fear, the worst of the nightmares that have plagued her every night, and she’s about to walk into it all, willingly. 

“Will they watch me go to the bathroom?” is all she can muster. 

Leia huffs, and there’s a tug at the corner of her mouth. “No, dear. They don’t watch you go to the bathroom. But they _are_ meant to protect you, so they will stand at the door of the bathroom and ensure that no one else enters.”

“Where will I live?” Rey asks weakly, not entirely sure she wants to hear the answer. 

“In an apartment. Your Guard will live in the unit next to yours.” 

A shaky sigh leaves Rey’s lips, and Leia tilts her head. “I know that this isn’t what you want, Rey. I understand that it’s unfair, that you feel you must choose between two forms of captivity, but I can promise you that you will be safe with us until you find a suitable mate. One that _you_ feel comfortable committing to. We will never make you do anything against your will.”

“Except have someone watching me 24-7. I bet those apartments only lock from the outside, don’t they?” Rey retorts, slightly put-off by her placation. 

Leia is cool as a cucumber, a seasoned veteran with regards to whiny brats, which she must think Rey is being right now. An ungrateful Omega with a death wish, ready to run her mouth straight to the grave. 

She quirks an eyebrow. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had one as lively as you.”

Rey rolls her eyes. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The Battalion facility isn’t anything like she pictured in her head. 

For starters, it’s a lot brighter—most of the walls are floor-to-ceiling windows that let natural light flood in, a startling contrast to the dark greys and blacks of her imagination. The furniture is standard, semi-comfortable chairs and mahogany desks and end tables, not cold metal benches shining under fluorescent bulbs. 

And it shouldn’t have been as big of a shock that Luke Skywalker would be the one to greet them, considering he is Leia’s brother and the facility in Coruscant is Battalion headquarters, but Rey’s still wonderstruck nonetheless. His crystal blue eyes look over her slowly as they shake hands, calculating and thoughtful just like his sister. 

“Amazing,” he breathes, eyes traveling back to her face. “I don’t think we’ve ever had a twenty-year-old Omega at this facility. You’re the first of your kind.”

Rey plasters on a tight-lipped smile. “Lucky me.” 

The siblings share a look, Luke’s face shifting into amusement as Leia kinks a knowing brow. 

_Yeah_ , _I know—_ her expression seems to say— _I’ve been dealing with this shit all day._

“Well, then.” Luke interlocks his fingers and holds his hands against his chest. “Your Guard has already been assigned and prepped, so you can meet him now, if you’d like.” 

“As if I could say no,” Rey mumbles, and the man huffs out a laugh. 

“A wild one, isn’t she?” he asks his sister, eyes bright and still on Rey. 

“It’s a match made in pain-in-the-ass heaven,” Leia affirms, shaking her head. 

Luke gestures with a nod toward the end of the hall, and they follow closely behind him when he starts to walk. It smells too clean, this place—artificial lemon and mint raze her nostrils as her sneakers tap against the polished concrete floor, and she decides that she hates it here, too. Even with the sun beating through the thick windows, there’s no warmth to be found. 

Rey schools her expression as she steps into his office so the bafflement isn’t written all over her face as her eyes roam around the room. It’s comically oversized. She has to avoid actually scoffing as she takes it all in—the lifeless art hanging on the walls, the hard-angled sculptures in the corners illuminated by glowing spotlights. 

When her eyes finally land on _him_ , a breath hitches in her throat. 

He’s standing next to Luke, six feet and some change with a mop of dark hair and a frown that looks permanent. There’s a wrinkle in his brow, concern deepening the crease as they stare each other down. No scent is recognizable on him except a hint of lavender from the neutralizing spray he doused himself in, and she wonders if he can smell her at all, or if the suppressants they put her on have dulled her just enough. 

In any case, he looks like he wants to be _anywhere_ but here. 

The pale brown of his attire tells her he’s a part of the force that’s meant to cage— _protect,_ whatever—Omegas until they find their mate. There are cuffs and a gun holstered to his belt. Though Rey understands that these are meant to be used on outside offenders that mean to harm her, she also can’t help but wonder if they are ultimately meant to subdue her, too. 

“This is Ben Solo,” Luke says, looking between them. And like a nail in the coffin of her former life, he says, “He will be your Guard."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's meet Ben, shall we? 
> 
> p.s. these chapters were already written before I posted on Tuesday, so I cannot promise the same update speed moving forward. But I will obviously do my best!

At first, Ben is pretty sure he would prefer going to prison over joining the Battalion. 

He knows he’s being stubborn. There’s no logic in his decision—it’s a reaction built on anger and impulse, one that he’s been cultivating for thirty-two years. He’s spectacularly good at being stubborn. He’s also found that it’s _easier_ to be that way than to accept pity or charity, which is what he’s convinced his mother is offering when she proposes the idea under the pretense of _a way out._

When he tells her that he’d rather be locked up than spend the rest of his life as someone’s hired gun, Leia throws her hands up and scoffs at him. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Ben returns her indignant stare. “Are they really that much different? Either way, I’m a slave to a system. I’ll die, unmated and alone with nothing to show for myself. What does the setting matter?” 

Hurt flashes over her face, quick and nearly imperceptible, and he knows he’s gone and done it again. Disappointed her, wounded her heart with his harsh words. Ben was born with sharp feelings and hard edges, and the only thing he’s ever been good at in his life is scraping them against people. 

“You’d get to see your family,” she grumbles sadly. “And not through a window.” 

He sighs. 

Ten years ago, he probably would’ve laughed at her even attempting to use his family as a bargaining chip. The word itself would’ve had him in stitches. His relationship with his father had deteriorated, seemingly past the point of repair, and when he’d left and chosen to work with Snoke, any shot he had at having one with his mother was as good as gone. It was easier back then, to ignore their calls and texts and letters until they eventually just stopped trying, and that was a reality he could live with—that they’d never existed in the first place—instead of knowing that they were out there, but better off without him. 

Things are different now. 

For one, the business that consumed his life for a decade is crumbling quickly into ash, pulling everyone it can down with it. The Battalion has its claws deep in First Order, and Ben knows that he is just as guilty as anyone else that they employed. As it turns out, there’s a lot of things that rich pricks like Snoke can get away with when it comes to Omegas, but trafficking them to horny, curious Betas is where they draw the line. He’ll go down with the ship if he doesn’t accept his mother’s offer, an option he’s lucky to have in the first place. They won’t show him mercy, either. He’ll get at least thirty years of service due on the Island, probably mopping floors or building fences, and then he’ll rot there until he dies an old, useless Alpha, buried at the bottom of a mass grave. 

There’s also no women. Ever. Not even the security guards. They separate them to avoid any fraternization, and you’re lucky if you can even get your hands on a _picture_ of one when you’re inside. At least in the Battalion, he could see women out in the world, even if he isn’t supposed to touch them. He’d probably have his own apartment and drive his own car, too.

And at the end of the day, he can’t discount his mother’s reasoning, either. It has been nice, the past two weeks, to be in her presence again. How easily she forgave him after walking away from Snoke—even though he’d only done so because he knew what was about to happen—isn’t lost on him. He feels calmer than he has in years, safe in a way that he’d forgotten even existed. Things aren’t as peachy keen with his dad, but they’re working on it, and it’d be a lot harder to maintain any of that behind bars. 

The more he thinks about it as they sit in tense silence, the easier the choice becomes. 

“Look, I’m just asking you to be reasonable here and not all,” she waves her hand in his direction, “Self-sacrificial. Will you please just consider it?”

Ben leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He runs his hands through his hair and lets out a deep breath. When he looks back up to his mother, he can tell that she knows what he’s about to say. There’s just a hint of a smirk on her lips. 

He rolls his eyes.

“Fine.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Everything happens very quickly after that. 

Ben’s hauled off to headquarters in Coruscant immediately upon accepting, where he receives every medical test in the book, has his physical aptitude observed, and gets prescribed the highest grade of blockers on the market. Once he’s been poked and prodded and smells sufficiently like a run-of-the-mill Beta, he gets loaded up onto a bus that will take him to Yavin with a group of other recruits. 

The training facility has a stark cleanliness to it; it’s lined with polished white tile on the walls and the floors, illuminated with fluorescent overhead lights that are bright enough to make you squint. They all sleep in one room lined with twin mattresses that are about as uncomfortable as they look, and a booming, foghorn-like sound blares through speakers that hang in each corner when it’s time to get up.

They run six miles every morning before the sun comes up, then weightlifting and conditioning takes up the rest of the morning; Ben’s partial to this part of the day because he’s been in the lead with his bench and squat weight since the start. After, their showers are timed, and if anyone goes over five minutes, the lights get turned out and the water heater gets turned off. It’s winter in Yavin, so that is punishment enough. 

Lunch follows that, and the food is decent, already leagues ahead of what Ben imagines prison food would be like. They eat like bodybuilders—constantly carb-loading with pasta and lean protein, and he’s pretty sure he’s ingested more eggs in the two weeks he’s been at basic than he has in his entire life. 

They spend the afternoons training with various weapons. Ben takes a liking to a matte black M17 that seems to fit into his hand like it was made for him. His eyesight has always been better than average, so it’s easier for him to pick up marksmanship quickly, surpassing his class in accuracy by miles. 

Scenarios round out the day, hundreds of them that all live inside a massive binder their superior officers walk around with. They’ve run through them enough that the team knows exactly where to go as soon as the numbers are called out; they know which roles to assume, where to attack and how to defend a hypothetical Omega. 

If they don’t perform it perfectly, they do it again. Sometimes it takes them three hours to get through them all. Sometimes it takes them all night. 

It’s grueling, physically and mentally, and Ben is exhausted down to his bones at the end of every day, but there’s solace in that level of tiredness—in knowing what your body is truly capable of when put under immense pressure.

Some nights, despite his depleted body’s protestations, his mind keeps him awake. He thinks about his family and what they’ll become once he’s an official Guard and only allowed to take a week’s worth of vacation between assignments. They can come see him at his apartment whenever they please, though it will have to be in the company of his Omega, and has to get approved via his superior officer at least a month in advance. 

That line of thinking, of course, always gets him wondering what the Omega will be like. He’s heard from friends of friends that know Guards that they can be needy and whiny on their best days, and on their worst, they’re as helpless as infants. If what he’s heard from his fellow recruits holds any validity, his charge will likely be a teenager, newly-presented and volatile. The thought of protecting a child that doesn’t even understand their own biology yet makes him uneasy, and he says as much to Tai one night, who sleeps one bunk over. 

“Nah, don’t worry about that,” the man assures quietly. It’s well past midnight and they’re the only ones awake. Tai shares Ben’s penchant of a restless mind. “They apparently love having us around. Our Alpha energy makes them feel all safe and cared for, so they’re more tolerable.” 

Ben is rolled over on his side, facing his friend. He purses his lips and says, “I wonder what it’s like for them. To have no options except to be mated or bred within an inch of your life.” 

Tai gives him a thoughtful glance, and then shrugs. “Not so different than us, is it? Living in a prison wrought out of your own biological makeup.” 

In the dark, it’s easy for Ben to hide the regret that flashes over his face, echoed from a place deep in his gut. “I chose this life because I fucked up my past one,” he says forlornly. “They don’t even have that luxury.” 

Tai hums in agreement, and then turns over, ending their conversation. The quiet that follows hangs around Ben like a fog, allowing his tumultuous thoughts to grow louder and clearer. _You’ll be bad at this, too_ , one says, in a voice that sounds suspiciously like Snoke. _Maybe you’d be better off at the Island with all the other Alphas that couldn’t hack it in the real world._

The longer he lies there in the dark, heavy silence, the more he starts to believe the voice may be right.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Basic lasts for six weeks, and then they all get relocated. He is sad to see Tai get assigned to a Battalion facility on the other side of the country from his post in Coruscant. Ben knows that the only reason he gets to go to HQ is because his uncle is the superior officer, and although it is a better facility than most, he would take the shoebox outpost they’ve got in swampy Dagobah over spending any length of time with Luke Skywalker. 

Hopefully, it won’t matter much—he’s hoping that he’ll get assigned an Omega quickly and be on his merry way, but no one can tell him how long that process typically takes, or what he’ll find out about his charge before he actually meets her. All of the recruits buzz with nervous anticipation as their trains arrive, the group dwindling from a dozen to two before the hour is up. He gives a quick nod to Phasma, the only one left besides him, as she boards her train to Kashyyk. Then he is alone. 

When it’s his turn, Ben has to suppress the urge to groan when he sees Luke waiting for him beyond the train’s automatic doors. He’s dressed in Battalion garb, all dark green and brown from head to toe and doing absolutely _nothing_ for his silvery complexion. That ever-present pompous smirk is aimed right at him as the doors slide open slowly, and then his uncle is gesturing for Ben to join him in the cabin. 

Ben picks up his duffel and slings it over his shoulder before pulling down his patrol cap so that it might hide the disdain in his eyes. He walks onto the train and stuffs his luggage into a storage bin before plopping down on the comfortable looking armchair across from Luke. 

His uncle’s smirk turns into a devilish looking smile, and Ben can’t help but roll his eyes. 

“What?” he huffs. 

Luke chuckles. “I can’t be happy to see my nephew in a Battalion uniform?”

Ben leans back in his chair, resting his elbows on the high arms. He shrugs. “Didn’t think it was possible to make you happy. Color me pleasantly surprised.” 

The smile on his uncle’s face starts to fade. “Look,” he says, leaning forward slightly. “Get all of that out of your system while you can. Once we’re on site, you can’t talk to me any way you feel like it, Ben. That’s not how things work in the Battalion.” 

“I’m well aware of how things work at the Battalion, _Master_ Skywalker.” 

The title tastes like vinegar in his mouth. 

Luke nods slowly and leans back, crossing one of his khaki-clad legs over the other. “You’ll be happy to know that we’ve already assigned you an Omega, so you won’t need to spend any more time with me than is necessary,” he explains, and Ben thinks there might be a twinge of sadness laced in his tone. His bright blue eyes are slightly duller than they were minutes ago. 

“Fantastic,” Ben murmurs. 

“Would you like to know about your charge?” he asks, reaching for a manilla folder that’s sitting on the table between them. 

It’s surreal, watching his uncle open the folder to reveal a page full of information on his very first Omega, complete with a 4x4 photograph paper-clipped to the top right corner. From this angle, it looks like a girl. 

All Ben can confirm is that whoever she is, she’s not happy to be getting her picture taken. 

“Sure,” he replies noncommittally. 

Luke scoffs slightly, and pulls out a pair of reading glasses from his shirt-pocket. He clears his throat and looks down at her file, then quickly holds the folder to his chest to spare a glance at Ben. 

“Before I start, you should probably know that this Omega is…a bit different than our usual charges.” 

_Great_ , Ben thinks, his lips folding into a line. “How’s that?” 

“Well, for starters, she’s twenty-years-old.” 

Confusion flashes over Ben’s face as he sits up a little straighter in his chair. “What? How is that even possible? I thought all unmated Omegas were like—teenagers?” 

Luke nods. “Most of them are. This one flew under the radar after she presented. _Four years_ out there, hiding herself, surfing couches and nearly starving to death. She’s—” he kinks an eyebrow. “Stubborn, you could say. Willful to a fault. A kindred spirit, perhaps.” 

Ben sucks in a deep, frustrated breath through his nostrils. He wants to tell him off for that comment, wants to get up and walk to the opposite end of the train so that he doesn’t have to sit in Luke’s musk of pipe tobacco and old books. He wants to scream in his face that he’s _more_ than just some stubborn kid. 

But that would be useless. A stubborn, willful, ungrateful child is—to Luke—all Ben will ever be. 

“Why isn’t she going to a breeding house?” 

At this obvious question, Luke chuckles. “Your mother worked her magic.” 

_Ah_. This just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?

“And why would my mother do something like that?” Ben asks, clenching his jaw. 

Luke’s brows shoot up. “Do you really need me to answer that?” 

With a frustrated swing of his hands, Ben sighs. “So, what? You two plucked us both out of perdition so we could what? Prove that everyone deserves a shot at redemption? That exiling or force-breeding our species isn’t the answer? Because it seems to me like this grand plan is just a setup to watch us both fail. Which, for you, seems on brand. But I’ve got to say, that’s a new low for my mother.” 

The older man regards him carefully, his eyes just barely narrowing. The quiet between them is tense, interrupted only by Ben’s heavy breaths as he waits impatiently for an answer. 

“It might do you some good to stop thinking that everyone’s out to _get_ you, Ben.” Luke rests his elbows against the table, blinking thoughtfully at his nephew. “This whole—” he waves his hands in an encircling motion, “ _Me against the world_ bit was fine when you were fifteen, but come on.” 

Anger boils in Ben’s blood. He’s about ten seconds from upending this table and _hoping_ that the edge of it catches Luke’s chin.

“I’m sorry if I’m skeptical of your attempts to _help_ me to do anything. If I recall correctly, you’re the one that told my mother I was too far gone. ‘Bound for the Island’, I think were the exact words you used.” 

Finally, _finally,_ regret crosses over Luke’s face. There, in his silver gaze, is a grief that he works extremely hard to conceal. Grief, Ben knows—for the life that they used to live, for the family that they used to be. 

“That was a long time ago. I don’t know how many more ways I can apologize to you.” 

Ben’s nostrils flare, but the hot, razing anger inside of him subsides. “You can start by telling me what else I need to know about her. I want to get assigned and moved out as quickly as possible.” 

A long moment passes with Luke staring at nothing in particular, and Ben silently waiting. Then, the man clears his throat again and leans back in his chair, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

“First thing’s first, then,” he says in a stronger, more confident voice. “Your Omega’s name is Rey.” 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


With bated breath, Ben waits for her. 

He cleans up first, scrubs himself down with a scent-neutralizing soap and does what he can to temper his unruly black waves once they’ve started to dry. The uniform that’s been customized to fit him is stiff in its newness, starched and folded into a perfect square on the dresser in his room. It doesn’t do much for his milky skin tone, but that doesn’t matter—in fact, all efforts to improve his appearance are needless, considering he’s about to embark on a lifelong career of being a shadow. 

That doesn’t make him any less nervous. 

Luke’s office is a balm to his anxiety; he almost laughs when he sets foot inside for the first time. It’s ridiculous, how huge it is—not to mention the sleek, modern-looking furniture that crowds the space, and the _outrageous_ view he has of the Coruscantian skyline. It’s comical to Ben, who needs a good laugh, that his uncle works here, day in and day out. The same man that used to chastise him for wanting material things like Air Jordans or high-def televisions has the swankiest office he’s ever seen, and he used to work for _Snoke_. The irony of it all loosens him up, and he chuckles quietly to himself as he waits.

When their footsteps are audible in the hall, Ben stands a little straighter, holding his hands together in front of his body and planting his feet sternly into the tile below. Luke enters first, followed by his mother, and then—

His first thought when Rey enters the room is that he’s glad they’ve got them on the highest-grade blockers and suppressants known to man. Something deep in Ben’s bones tells him that anyone that looks like _her_ probably smells just as good, and the one thing he’s absolutely, positively, in no universe supposed to do, is form an attachment to this Omega.

That would compromise everything, including his ability to keep her safe from unwanted advances. It would get him sent to the Island on the first boat out, probably straight to solitary for breaking his vow. She’d get punished too, either sent with him or dropped into a breeding house if they deem her fit to reproduce. It’s too dangerous to even _think_ about. 

The consternation is written all over his face; he can feel it in the deep wrinkle of his brow and the hard set of his mouth. They stare at each other for a brief moment before Luke introduces him as her Guard. Ben swallows thickly and stands up a little straighter. 

“Hi, Ben.” Rey’s voice is shaky at the edges, like she’s trying extremely hard to give off a confidence that she doesn’t actually have. 

He knows the feeling. 

“Hello, Rey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would love to know what you think so far! drop me a comment or come find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/irridesca)

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/irridesca)!


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